Coach
by DrWhoAreYou
Summary: "I knew him. From before. From before Alexandria, from before Atlanta, from before... everything," Charlie whispered to Daryl from the other side of the jagged barbed wire fence. "Trust me...If anyone deserves his blood on their hands it's me."


**A/N- I don't own any of the Walking Dead, just Charlie. **

_All you have is fire_

_And the place you need to reach_

_Don't you ever tame your demons_

_But always keep them on a leash_

It was dark, and it smelled like death. The air was sticky and clung to Charlie's skin like glue. She wasn't sure how long she'd been here. Her eyes were covered with some sort of fabric. She tugged her hands in an attempt to remove the makeshift blindfold only to discover that her hands were cuffed behind her back.

She huffed and began to shake her entire form. It was no use. She growled. How had she been handcuffed? Did she pass out? Was she knocked out? Probably the later. Those assholes. No, _THAT_ asshole. The fucker with the baseball bat.

Her head began to spin. How long had she been here? Where ever _here_ was… She needed to escape, needed to get back to her family, or what was left of them at least. They needed her, but instead, she was tied up, God knows where with a group of people being led by a psychotic Joe DiMaggio.

There was no way out of this. No alternative. Just this hell and the searing memory of her friend's skulls becoming soup before her eyes. She let out an angry scream.

"Well shit princess," A voice echoed from across the room, "I didn't take you for a screamer."

Charlie froze. Someone was in the room with her. Her breath shallowed and she could feel her pulse quicken. It wasn't just someone. It was _him_. She heard the creak of a chair, supposedly him standing, and then the loud thump of heavy boots on the tile flooring. Then another sound, this one closer. The sound of another chair being pulled across the floor. She then felt a breath of hot air blow into her face. She cringed. How nice, the fucker decided to sit by her.

"Well I didn't take you for a handcuffs kind of guy," She replied, venom dripping on every syllable, "But hey, we all have our kinks."

For a brief moment, Charlie tensed, realizing the severe ramifications her words could have. But before she could take another breath her blindfold was ripped from around her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, the bright fluorescent light cutting through her irises like glass. She groaned, her head coming between her knees. She was dehydrated, sleep deprived, and undoubtedly suffering from blood loss.

She felt a rough hand grab underneath her chin, and raise her head up so that she was no longer doubled over. Her eyes made direct contact with his.

"What do you take me for then?" He asked with a smug smirk on his face.

"I don't know, bashing in heads with a fucking baseball bat seems to get you off just fine."

He let go of her chin and sat back in his chair.

"Fuck me darlin, I was just doin what had to be done. Your people gave me no choice."

Her blood boiled and she lurched forward like a dog on a chain. "That's a crock of shit," She spat.

"I get it," He said rising from his chair. His fingers raked through her blonde hair, feigning tenderness, "I'm an understanding guy. You've been through the fucking ringer within these past 24 hours, but don't think you're in the fuckin clear Princess." His hand tugged at the hair at the nape of her neck forcing her to look upwards, "You put a gun to my throat. And that kind of thing does _not_ slide."

"Yeah well you bashed in my best friend's skull so I think we are even cocksucker," She tasted blood, but she knew it wasn't hers. Half of her skin was painted with the blood of those who used to be her friends.

"Oh ho ho. You have quite the fuckin vocabulary sunshine," He said as he crouched in front of her.

"Let's test yours why don't we? Where am I?"

"Trying to leave so soon?" His hands were still hovering around her neck.

_Shut the fuck up Charlotte. Do you have a death wish?  
…_

_At this point yes. _

She kept her eyes on the floor.

"How about we have ourselves a little drink?" He pulled a flask out of his leather jacket, "What do you say Little Miss Sunshine?"

_Wait… Did he just…_

Her brow furrowed and her blue eyes rose to meet his.

"What did you just call me?"

His face leaned in towards her, "Listen blondie I'll call you whatever the fuck you want."

Silence. She had heard those words before. He had said them to her before. _Before_ the world went to shit. She knew him.

"Oh my god," She breathed as she examined his face. Same dark eyes, same smug smirk. It was him, "I knew it."

He must not have recognized her. Although she did suppose she looked different now. Particularly due to the amount of blood that was camouflaging her skin. That, and the tattered rags that clung to her body as a poor excuse for clothes.

Yes, she supposed this get-up was far different from her high school cheer uniform.

His playful demeanor fell upon noticing the knowing glint in her eyes, "You want a drink or not?"

_If you only knew how fucking ironic this was. _

"Sure." She spat.

He swiftly uncuffed her hands, but before Charlie could process what was happening he was towering over her, forcing his flask, and the burning liquid inside it, down her throat. The alcohol seared like fire as it flowed down her throat. Her hands came to his arms and her nails dug into his flesh. He was too strong though. She gagged and began to sputter on the brown water. He relinquished and she gasped for air. Tears streamed down her face and she put her head between her knees.

"Well fuck darlin, I didn't know you were going to waste all my good bourbon."

He took a few steps towards her crumpled form and heard what he at first believed to be whimpering. Her body shook and he supposed she had finally succumbed to tears. But then the breathing became less labored and he realized she wasn't crying at all, she was laughing. The kind of laughter that barely makes a sound. The way someone laughs when they find something to be absurdly and unbelievably funny. She looked up at him, a bright white smile on her face. His heart ached.

_The fuck?_ He thought.

He knew her. He couldn't place how or why but he did. Something deep in his soul told him he knew that smile, and that he used to long for it.

"This is going to be _fun_," She managed between laughs

"What was that doll-face?" The words barely left his mouth before she was standing directly before him, breath smelling of bourbon and blood. She was only inches away.

"I said: This is going to be a fuckin _good_ time," She said grabbing fistfuls of his leather jacket.

"Shit, Sunshine you got plans for tonight I don't know about?" He asked, grabbing her wrists and lifting her hands off of him. She pulled herself free and took a few steps back, shaking her head as she did. It was definitely him. How long had it been? 5 years? 10? She was practically a child when she first met him.

When she, her family, and her friends had been lined up in that clearing like pigs for slaughter, she wondered what kind of monster would do this. Then she heard his voice. It was vaguely familiar, like listening to an old record. Then she saw him. Then he took her. Then he called her 'Little Miss Sunshine.' And she knew.

"I figured you'd be dead too, just like everyone else from before this world went to hell, but here you are, alive," She started rambling, absolutely dumbstruck, "But of course you are. This world was made for assholes like you."

"What in the fuck-" He began to advance on her but she began laughing hysterically once more.

"God has a twisted fuckin sense of humor let me tell you." She managed to say between laughs.

He swiftly reached for Lucille, which hung on his belt. Her eyes flashed at the barb-wire-wrapped baseball bat that was now hovering in front of her face.

"Listen Blondie, I'm not gonna lie, the whole bat-shit-crazy thing is giving me a major hard-on, but if you laugh one more _goddamn_ time I will swing Lucille into that pretty fuckin mug of yours and knock. Your. _Teeth_. Out." He said the last words with a slight bounce on each syllable and a flourish of Lucille.

"Ha. Ha." She spat.

"Oh _Blondie_, you've got some _balls_. Now you've gone and made my Lucille mad."

"I've gone and done what to Lucille? Hm?" She stepped forward and peaked out from behind the bat, her eyes glimmering, "Speaking of which, how _is_ Lucille? Hm Negan?"

His eyes darkened, "Thirsty, sweetheart."

"No, Negan... How is your _fucking wife."_


End file.
